


Who Even Carries a Flashlight?

by plasticdaisy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, POV First Person, Romance, Subways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 17:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20261470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plasticdaisy/pseuds/plasticdaisy
Summary: Dave is a newly-christened MetroCard holder who is slowly getting used to taking the subway. However, when the power goes out on the train and leaves him stranded in the dark, he makes an unexpected acquaintance in the panicked person sitting beside him.





	Who Even Carries a Flashlight?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KittyMotor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyMotor/gifts).

I shift as the train goes around a curve, adjusting one of my earbuds. This is a commute I’m not used to yet – back in Houston, I was more accustomed to skating or taking the bus. But, after moving into my sister’s New York Apartment, she insisted it was more cost-effective for me to get a _MetroCard_.

I look down at my feet. Even though I’ve been riding the metro practically every day for a few weeks now, I still haven’t gotten entirely used to it. It’s astonishing to me that some people can just feel their stop, and that they’re completely fine in such a crowded space. I feel almost surrounded by strangers, and it’s a little suffocating. It smells like sweat and coffee. Even though it’s cold as hell outside, it feels _too hot_ in here – which is a revelation to me, who was born and raised somewhere where ‘winter’ was usually sixty degrees.

I freeze up as the lights flicker off and back on. My eyes dart upward, where the strips of lights have gone yellow and weak. Is that normal for being in a tunnel? I’m suddenly not sure.

As someone mutters a string of expletives, I quickly realize it can’t be.

The lights flicker again, and my heart seizes in my chest. As they shut off, I feel like my insides have slipped out onto the floor. People begin to shout. I pull out my earbuds – it’s fucking _pitch black_, the air conditioning has gone off, and it seems to seal the coffin of panic closing around my chest when I hear the brakes of the train screech to a halt.

I hear movement as people scramble around, some yelling and banging on the doors, which aren’t budging – even the ones between the cars. I close my eyes, rubbing them underneath my shades. I push them up onto my head, but my vision refuses to adjust, especially with the people who are slinging around their phone-flashlights, nailing people in the eyes as they furiously scamper around the subway car like wild animals.

People have started to yell at each other, but just under the excess noise, I pick up the sound of someone breathing incredibly fast. It sounds like it’s probably the person next to me; despite the panic flaring in my chest, I feel inclined to do _something_.

I pull out my phone, the glare of the light from my screen hurting my eyes. After adjusting the brightness, I open my notes section, tapping out a brief message: ‘hey are you okay’. I nudge the person next to me – their breath hitches – and I hand them the phone.

I hear them take a deep breath. After a couple seconds, they hand the phone back. The word ‘no’ is clear as day on my screen, typed in all-capital-letters. Their hands are shaking as they hand it back.

“I know we don’t know each other,” I say, my hand still outstretched with the phone in it, as to invite them to type out another message if they’d like, “… but it’s okay, and, like, I’m right here next to you.”

My eyes have adjusted enough to see the vague outline of a person nodding. They’re a little shorter than I am, and from what I can see, they have short, messy hair.

“I’m scared too,” I continue.

They nod again.

“Do you want to hold my hand?” I ask quietly, moving my phone into the front pocket of my sweatshirt and offering my hand to them. The movement as they take it is swift, and I give their hand a squeeze.

There’s a beat of silence.

“… Your hands are fucking cold,” the person mutters, suddenly. His voice is breathy, like he has to fight a little to speak – but it’s something like music, despite the way it shakes a little with his apparent panic.

I let out a bit of a breathy laugh.

“And yours are warm as hell,” I reply, “…I can let go, if you want.”

“_Don’t,”_ he replies quickly. I nod, take a deep breath – to quell my own racing heart – and squeeze his hand again. His hand really is incredibly warm but in a comfortable way, unlike the blaring, Texan heat – like sitting in front of a warm fire in the dead of night.

I wonder if he looks like the stars.

“… I’m Dave,” I introduce myself shakily.

“Karkat.”

“This is scary as fuck, huh,” I manage. I follow the words with a weak laugh. He doesn’t reply, but moves closer to me, so our shoulders touch. I can feel the heat of his body against mine, now.

“Here,” I mutter, “can I try something?”

He nods. I imagine, by this point, that it must be hard for him to speak when he’s afraid – I get the same way, but something swells in my chest at being next to him. It makes me feel like I have to keep him safe. It’s a weird feeling; something I’m not used to. I’ve always felt a little isolated, like it’s my job to protect myself – my brother taught me that other people are a weight, even if he didn’t do so verbally.

I am slowly learning that everything he taught me was wrong.

I unlink our hands and wrap an arm around Karkat’s shoulders. He immediately leans into me, tucking his head into my chest. His breathing slows a little, as I squeeze him a little, holding him against. I can feel his heart beating. We’re both shaking.

“Is this better?”

He nods against me.

“… A lot better,” he whispers.

“Good.”

The rest of the train has begun to calm, a little. There’s a lot of chatter, and it seems a lot of people have settled down, trying to get service or just beginning to ground themselves.

Suddenly, the loudspeaker pings, and a fuzzy voice fills our car.

“Attention all passengers, we apologize for the inconvenience. There has been a power outage on this block. Service will be up again in a few minutes.”

Service was not up again in a few minutes.

We sat there from two-thirty to five-forty-five. People had begun to pry open the doors for fresh air. After the two-hour mark passed, Karkat and I began to talk; he told me that he was visiting a friend of his in the city, and that he had stayed the night. He was taking the subway back to the bus-station.

_“I’ve always been intuitive about the subway and shit like that,”_ he had told me, _“but this really … it really fucking threw me off.”_

I told him I was living with my sister, and that I was just on my way to get a new wheel for my skateboard, because I’d broken one off doing a trick on a flight of stairs. He laughed at me, and even though I gave him a little shove for it, it was a beautiful sound. It seemed to explode from his mouth in an array of colors, like a firework dancing through the sky.

I made it a mission to try to make him laugh again.

We talked about life, and his hobbies, and my hobbies. I showed him some of my music, and in return, he shared some of his art – I could just barely see the lines of his smile as he unlocked his phone.

He has snakebites, and the curve of his lips as he grins is charming.

At five-forty-five, the lights flicker back on. There is a chorus of groans and proclamations of _‘finally’_. It is quickly followed by the loud whir of the air conditioners. I blink, immediately pushing my shades back down onto my face as my eyes adjust to the bright, fluorescent lights.

After a few seconds, I turn to see Karkat looking at me.

Like I had predicted, he has a mop of messy curls on top of his head. He has snakebites, too. He’s wearing a thick sweater that swallows him a little. His face is a little red as he looks at me. His brow is furrowed, but as I meet his eyes – well, through my shades – he smiles. It’s like watching the sun rise.

“… Well, damn, I wasn’t expecting you to be so _handsome_.”

I wiggle my eyebrows at him.

“Oh, fuck off,” he rolls his eyes, but his smile remains – his words are punctuated by a laugh: that firework laugh.

Much to my dismay, our conversation fades away, slowly. He yawns, closing his eyes and leaning back against the seat. The train starts again, and as we rush past the first station, I turn back to look at the ceiling, slipping in my headphones.

I can feel my chest deflate a little, but my circling thoughts of what might’ve happened flush away as I feel a hand slip into mine. I glance over to Karkat, who has an eye cracked and a small smile on his weary face. I squeeze his hand, smiling back, and lean into him a little.

I take out an earbud, offering it to him. He plucks my phone from my hand, adding a bunch of songs to my queue. I nudge him a little as he hands it back, but don’t touch the list he’s made. I slip my phone back into my pocket, taking in the soaring feeling in my chest as he sits beside me.

We listen to a soft, sweet song about falling in love – and for once, as I see Karkat in the corner of my eye, I suddenly understand what it might mean.


End file.
